saltwater
by closingdoors
Summary: She repeats your name again. You think you could listen to the way she says it forever. COMPLETE.


saltwater  
in the hollows of my bones,  
and cold, cold, cold -  
where warm blood  
used to flow.

 **m.v., _no i am not ok (please don't pretend to care)._**

* * *

 _Even superhero Jane would struggle after almost drowning post 5x13. This goes pretty AU from there.  
_

* * *

You are a new kind of cold.

Maura has told you about the effect water has on your body. The pressure, the difficulty breathing, which leads to the tightness of the chest. You do not tell her about the feeling of it pouring down your throat, currents tugging at your legs, the feeling of the icy air prickling at your face in the moments you broke the surface. She remains objective, and you remain closed.

It's almost like before. The time you shot yourself and hid away from everyone but her. Maura, who came barrelling in propelling facts from the tip of her tongue and cleaning your uniform. This time, you let yourself go to her. When the case is over, and the nights feel longer with tsunamis crashing between your ears. She does not question it. Lets you unpack your small bag into one of her guest bedrooms and is awake doing yoga the next morning.

And so, you stay.

* * *

Her hands are summer. They run along your back, slick with massage oils, her knees either side of your hips. She does not suffocate you.

The music is too fancy, and you mumble so into the mattress. You feel her laugh through the shake of her body against yours. A soft, shy thing that caresses the backs of your thighs.

"It's not fancy," she chides, but this too is soft and shy. "It has been scientifically proven to lower heart rate and blood pressure."

Even as she tuts, you lift your head, twisting awkwardly to raise your eyebrows at her. "The candles and dimmed lights weren't enough?"

"Jane."

She says your name like it is a gift.

Upturned, like the leaves in spring.

If she has said too much in one word, she doesn't show it. Her eyes don't flicker away and she doesn't move to leave. It is not the first time you've felt guilt for jumping without thought, no matter how justified you know you were in doing so, no matter how much of a hero you know she paints you out to be. The fact that you have a beating heart and working lungs should not be a gift to her, it should be a given.

Her hands find your neck, encourage you to lay back down, accompanied with a quiet _stay still_ from her lips. The tips of her fingers against the slash of your jaw makes your own tingle and then your toes curl as her thumbs find your pressure points. She'd taken a masseuse class once – an anecdote she'd thrown in as she'd convinced you to lie down and let her take care of you. You'd scoffed, because of _course_ she had. The woman knew everything. But – oh, boy. Does the woman know her stuff. She's pouring warmth back into your skin. Small, focused circles on your neck. Wide, strong ones circling your shoulder blades. Long, slow sweeps along your sides, thumbs slipping to the small of your back.

"You are _full_ of knots, Jane. You really ought to have regular massages, especially considering your job."

"I don't have time for pampering, I have killers to catch," you tell her, muffled against the mattress.

Her body weight shifts around you. Hands rest on your shoulders, her stomach brushes the skin of your lower back. The whisper of hair against your shoulder blades and you know that it must have broken free of the loose braid she'd tied before.

"Then I'll pamper you," she says, and this time her voice is close, warm breath against your ear.

You don't argue, and she presses her smile against your neck.

* * *

The two of you develop a routine. Maura has a strict morning schedule, and is almost always completely dressed and eating breakfast by the time you've showered. She waits for you, however, and monitors your eating habits in a way that she probably thinks is subtle. Sometimes, your mother will join the two of you, and nobody speaks of the time you threw yourself off of a bridge and almost drowned.

Maura makes you coffee. Not fancy. The kind you like.

Things feel bright.

* * *

"Maura?"

You're standing in the doorway to her room, toes curling against the wooden floor. Absentmindedly, you wish that you had worn socks.

The hallway light spills in through the door, interrupting the total darkness she sleeps in. You know that she has never had a nightlight, or left her en suite light on. She doesn't fear the dark because she views it objectively. A quieter, darker room makes for a better quality of sleep, she says, but the quiet is long and aching for you. The dark is too much like the water. Blind spots in your vision when you were pulled under for too long. Sinking down, away from the surface and the light, and struggling to pull yourself up from the dangerous depths.

"Maura?"

A little louder, and this time her sheets rustle as she moves. Maura sighs sleepily before she wakes, sitting up in the bed and squinting at you as she spots you standing on the other side of the room. The hair-mussed, eyes swollen and confused look is not one you had ever thought would be adorable, but is on her.

"Jane? What's wrong?"

You slip into the room completely and let the door fall shut behind you. Her bed is warm and welcoming when you find it, sliding in next to her and resting your head against the pillow. You cannot see her in the dark, but you feel her hesitate for one moment, before laying back down beside you. She repeats your name again. You think you could listen to the way she says it forever.

It's hard for you to find the words for what you're feeling. Admitting fear has never been easy, and she is the only one you have ever been able to tell during the times you feel that way. So you find her hand in the dark, twine it with yours and she squeezes like she knows.

"I know it's been a couple weeks. But I can't stop thinking about it, Maura," you tell her, and the words scrape against your throat. "There was only a brief moment when I really struggled, when I thought I wouldn't be able to survive being swept out there. But it – it gets to me. A Hell of a lot. I can't even go near a bath, Maura, I – "

You stop, and take a shaky breath. You're _scared,_ and you don't want to be, you want to be strong. You should be strong.

"It was a traumatic event. Not the kind many people experience in their lives, let alone survive," comes Maura's reply. "The brain takes time to process these things. Nightmares, flashbacks, leading to fear are all signs of – "

"So help me, if you say PTSD, I'm getting my gun."

Maura laughs while shaking her head. You feel her shift, and then her free hand is resting on your stomach. Splayed wide. Her hands are so dainty for someone who cuts open dead bodies for a living. Scar free. Right. You squeeze her other one.

"You jumped off of a bridge, Jane," Maura says softly. "You don't just forget that."

Her voice is gentle. When you'd jumped off of the bridge, clothes had weighed you down, the water cold and shocking as the current tugged you away. There had been a moment when you think you had broken free, when there was dark around you everywhere, and your name was ripped from her lips like something fearsome. The water had moved again and you had been useless against it. Your name ringing and ringing in your own head. The way she'd said it. The way you'd left her. You had not thought about her when you jumped – and you're home, safe, now, with her, in your own permanent forever together. But the moment you had struck such fear in her voice you'd wanted to come crawling back instantly.

"I'm sorry, Maur."

The words taste stale. You should have said them sooner. But regardless, her hand relaxes its grip on yours and she breathes deeply.

You want to remember how it feels to breathe that way.

"I'm sorry," you say again, because you mean it for a lot of things. You _do._

The first thing you think when you slide your hands into her hair and kiss her is that she smells of lavender. A soft, hesitant linger of a smell that makes you sigh against her lips.

"Jane," she mumbles, hand tripping down to rest on your waist.

"I can't get warm, Maura. I'm cold all the time."

This time, she kisses you. A ferocious thing that has her pressing you on your back against the mattress, slipping her thigh between yours as she hovers above you. Tongue hot and insistent against your lips and you shudder, welcome the warmth back into your body again and again and again. Even as the room around you remains dark, and the air permeated with silence. You fist your hands in her hair and think _finally._

"Okay," she whispers. Lifts away but you pull her back down. "Okay."

* * *

The cubicle is suffocating.

You've never been here before. The place is way out of your price range. But Maura pulls you along, claiming she can help you, and so now you're standing inside a changing room cubicle double the size of the BPD's in nothing but a swimsuit.

You look at your hands. Trembling. It has been four days since you spent the night in Maura's bed and she hasn't pushed you into talking about it. Last night, you'd wormed your way back there again, not because you were afraid of your nightmares but because you're no longer afraid to admit that you're uncomfortable without her. She hadn't said a word as you'd slipped into her bed, curled an arm around her waist, pressed your nose into her hair. You'd fallen asleep to the smell of lavender and had dreams of fields full of bluebells.

These hands have touched Maura. These hands, scarred hands, that could barely pull you to the surface of the water. Hands that burned in the weeks of recovery after Hoyt. You'd thought that, by touching her, you might have ruined her. She is beautiful and smooth, poised to perfection, and you're rough around the edges. But she still smiles at you the same way. Still says your name like it is a soft and wondrous thing.

"Jane?"

She knocks on the cubicle door and you snap out of it, shoving your clothing into your bag and opening the door to her. Maura's waiting patiently and you avert your eyes away from her body, clad only in a designer bikini that probably costs more than your annual salary. Without question, she takes your bag from your hands to deposit in her personal locker with her own things, before she gestures to the doorway that leads to the pool.

"Are you okay?"

You twist your hands together. "Let's just get this over with."

The pool is large. She rambles about the length and the depth but your ears are filled with the sound of waves. Mirrors reflect the water on the ceiling and it makes you falter in your step, but Maura takes your hand and pulls you along like it's effortless. Like it's easy to care for you.

The pool gradually leads deeper, so when you first step in it is only to your ankles. You pause and look at her.

"Maura, I don't think – "

"The best way to cure a fear is through exposure," she explains, moving to stand in front of you. She places her hands out and you take them without thought. "Do you trust me, Jane?"

She moves backwards, just slightly, and pulls you with her.

"Jane. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," it slips out easily, and then she's moving backwards slowly but definitely, and you follow her and keep your eyes trained on hers as she keeps hers on yours.

The water reaches your waist and brushes just beneath her shoulders when she stops. Your hands remain clasped around one another's in the water between you. Light and buoyant. No current to pull you away.

"How does this feel?" Maura asks softly, and at the other end of the pool a man is doing whole widths of the pool underwater.

"Just keep – holding my hands," you tell her, looking down as your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

She sighs your name again and steps closer. Your eyes fix themselves on her shoulders as one of her hands releases yours to skim across your own shoulders. Her skin is cold from the water and makes you startle until you're looking at her lips and see the way they curl upwards in reassurance. Her hand squeezes and she doesn't let you do.

"Is this okay, Jane? Are _you_ okay?"

You tug on her hand until she drifts closer, feet brushing yours, your nose in her hair as her hips bump against yours. She lets you control her movements. So you dip down and kiss her in the light of day.

"I will be," you say, and then you kiss her again.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
